No Good Deeds
by Late Owl Rambles
Summary: Cyrax fled. He didn't get far.


**This is a tie-in to my fic _Paved with Sorrow_ , but as long as you know the plot of MK9 you should understand this.**

* * *

Tshiamo leaned back against the ship's wall, breathing slowly and allowing his eyes to flutter shut. It had been a challenge to stay out of Sektor's reach until the boats taking the fighters away from the island arrived. Hours of hiding in shrubbery or among treetops, always keeping an eye open for his old "friend".

He wriggled a little to make himself more comfortable, instantly feeling a sharp jab in his chest. He'd cracked a rib, most likely, after his second fight with Sektor. Tshiamo tried to get as far away as possible after knocking him out the first time, but only made it to the statue garden by the lake before Sektor caught up with him. Or, rather, Sektor's _missile_ caught up with him.

The blast sent him flying, but somehow he got to his feet in time to block Sektor's next attack. They hadn't fought for long before Cyrax bested Sektor again by first kicking and then immediately throwing him into the lake, followed by trapping him in a net for good measure. Sektor flopped around like a fish, spitting out water and cursing at Tshiamo when he smashed both their communicators against a rock. It was impossible to contact anyone with the magical barrier still up, but the tournament would be over in a few hours. Tshiamo couldn't risk the Lin Kuei knowing of his departure before _he_ was ready for it.

After that, he successfully avoided Sektor until the tournament was over (Earthrealm had won. If he wasn't mistaken, it was Liu Kang who scored the victory. Tshiamo didn't dwell on the satisfaction that realization brought). He snuck aboard the ship headed for Africa instead of the one going to Southeast Asia, with which they had gotten there in the first place. Keeping lookout, he saw Sektor search for him on the beach, only boarding the ship to Yangon at the very last minute.

So here he was now, on the lower levels of a ship to Hurghada, moving further away from Sektor and the Lin Kuei with each passing second. He couldn't remember ever feeling so elated and anxious, simultaneously or separately.

The double triumph tasted particularly sweet, although Sektor had gotten in a few good hits, as evidenced by a few contusions as well as the aforementioned chest pain. However, he didn't have any trouble breathing, so Tshiamo didn't worry much about it.

What he _did_ worry about, on the other hand, was time, and whether he should risk resting where he sat. He'd found a good spot where he didn't risk being attacked from behind, but his front was still open. None of the other travelers on the ship had a reason to pick a fight, as far as he knew, but he was still unwilling to lower his guard.

But he was tired, and the trip would take hours. Learning to sleep lightly was something all Lin Kuei did, but that didn't mean it was completely devoid of risks. It was best if he didn't sleep yet.

Six hours – judging by the sun – after he decided to stay awake the whole trip, he woke up in a very awkward position, with numb limbs and his face pressed against the wooden crate beside him.

With a groan, he stretched the best he could, counting how many hours he had to spare. He'd been on the boat for about eight hours now, which meant another nine hours until Sektor arrived at Myanmar, along with a means to contact and inform the Lin Kuei of Tshiamo's disappearance.

Tshiamo's gaze went to his left arm, to the bloodied fabric he used as gauze after cutting out the tracker. It was the first thing he did after getting rid of Sektor for the second and last time. This way, when the barrier vanished, the masters would have assumed that he died in the tournament. Perhaps they would try to contact Sektor for details, but he assured that wouldn't be an issue. Now, he was free. They didn't know which route he had taken, which of the world's many harbors he'd set foot in, where he'd go after that.

Of course, to be perfectly honest, Tshiamo himself wasn't too certain about where he'd go or what he'd do. He had nothing but the clothes on his back, his weapons, and some renminbi and ruble from his latest missions. Oh, and Bi-Han's belt buckle, but that would do him little good. In any case, even if he exchanged what money he had for EGP, it wouldn't get him far.

He could always steal. It wouldn't be difficult, especially in a tourist trap like Hurghada. In places like these, there were always tons of individuals running around waving notes and coins as if begging to be robbed. It was honestly quite amusing what vacation and a chance to relax did to peoples' self-preservation.

No, he would in all likelihood be required to steal if he wanted to get somewhere after docking. It would be in his best interest to travel north, maybe take himself to Europe. He could acquire a new identity; start over as a normal person. It wouldn't be easy, but he could do it. Or…

Tshiamo's stomach churned at the thought, but he could contact the authorities and try to make a deal. Giving up information on a whole organization of thieves and assassins should give him some kind of immunity, wouldn't it?

Arduously, Tshiamo got to standing on his knees. He stuck his nose out the small window above him. The sky was shifting from utterly clear to dotted with wads of silver clouds as they speedily drifted forward. He didn't consider himself a traitor. He had done nothing to jeopardize his former clan; he simply left. However, if he did report them – told the temples location, their modus operandi, their identities, every secret he knew about the clan that even some governments weren't sure existed – then…

He inhaled deeply, as deeply as he could without causing himself any pain, as he sat down on the hard floor again.

He could make up his mind later.

* * *

They docked in Egypt a few hours later, Tshiamo disembarking as a different man. His uniform with the Lin Kuei insignia was lying on the floor on the lower deck, along with his weapons. He brought a few knives and bombs – just in case – but he doubted he'd need them. He was done with that life.

He blended relatively well with the crowd, having little trouble moving from the harbor. He decided that, even if he stayed in Africa, he needed to leave Hurghada, since the boat docking there would be easily acquired knowledge for the clan. That meant moving towards El Dahar, where he'd catch a bus to Cairo. After stealing the wallet from a man whose whole family wore designer clothes, he began his journey, keeping to the slummier parts, where the shadows were longer and the corners darker.

Almost twenty minutes had passed when the shadow appeared above Tshiamo, slowly closing in, as if falling on top of him. He spun around, seeing the red and black figure right before it would've struck him. Tshiamo grabbed it while still in the air and threw it to the ground. Sektor slid along the gravel. He calmly dusted himself off as he rose, then looked up at Tshiamo with murder in his gaze.

They stood completely still, sizing each other up. Tshiamo's hand inched to his waistband. The people around them was staring and whispering amongst one another.

"Did you really think you could escape me, _Cyrax_?" Sektor's voice was even colder than normal.

Tshiamo shook his head. "That wasn't my intention. I just thought we'd play a game of tag. I know how much you love that, _Weizhen_."

Sektor's face screwed up with rage. He looked like he was about to say something more, when Tshiamo attacked. He shot forward, stabbing after Sektor with his knife. Sektor sidestepped, trying to punch Tshiamo's head. Tshiamo dodged the punch as well as the following kick. The civilians ran away screaming. Tshiamo directed the knife at Sektor's face, who caught it in his arm guard. Wringing the weapon out of Tshiamo's hand, he aimed a punch, but Tshiamo's smoke bomb hit the ground before it landed.

Leaving his former comrade behind in the cloud, Tshiamo turned and ran into the closest alleyway. He shouted in Arabic to make people move out of his way, shoving the ones who didn't aside. Casting a hasty glance back, he saw Sektor in close pursuit.

Exiting the alleyway, Tshiamo jumped onto a garbage can, continuing up to a wall. Running along it, he flung himself towards a balcony on the nearest building. He crashed into the stone when grasping the edge. He pulled up, his ribs aching, and climbed to the balcony above him. A woman was standing on the third balcony he scaled. She ran inside her apartment shrieking. Tshiamo ignored her, only focusing on going up. When he got to the rooftop he didn't even bother to look back to see how close Sektor was.

He sprinted across the roof, jumping to the next building. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop, constantly searching for a weapon to use or a place to hide. The sound of footsteps chasing after him echoed. The next building was shorter than the previous; when he landed, he was forced to roll on the tiles before getting up. In the corner of his eye, Tshiamo saw Sektor landing right after him. He turned while running, rummaging for his knife, and was struck by Sektor's fist. Tshiamo stumbled backwards, then doubled over when Sektor punched his gut. Sektor kicked his chest, kicked his knee, elbowed him in the chest, and lastly swept his leg across Tshiamo's to trip him. Tshiamo fell, but did a handstand and kicked Sektor's chin. Standing, he grabbed Sektor to punch him in the stomach, chest, and face. Sektor kicked Tshiamo's leg, then jump kicked his head. He managed two punches to the face, and tried to uppercut, but Tshiamo blocked. He kicked Sektor in the gut, followed by twice in the head. He punched his former comrade, thrust his elbow into his throat, struck his face, and smashed one of his last bombs into Sektor's head.

He thought Sektor would collapse after that, but instead he drove his hand into Tshiamo's abdomen. Tshiamo froze, his muscles tensing up, when the electricity entered his body. Before he could react, Sektor punched his jaw, then hurled him into the stone. Tshiamo scrambled to his feet, putting as much distance between them as he could. He wheezed, pressing a hand to his ribs. The pain was unbearable. His body stung, and his chest… It was like half the air he sucked in vanished somewhere on the way to his lungs. He fumbled for his knife whilst bringing out another smoke bomb. Sektor produced a bomb of his own, but he didn't throw it at Tshiamo. Instead, he stretched his arm to the side and let it drop to the street below.

At first Tshiamo wasn't sure if it really happened or if he imagined it. Then the ground shook; the blast reached his ears.

Tshiamo fell to his knees, clutching the stone edge that surrounded the roof. The bang from the explosive together with the blood pounding in his ears kept him from hearing the ruckus below the first few seconds. Soon the dust and the smoke cleared, and he heard it, saw it.

A hole in the concrete, windows blown out, buildings wrecked. Humans lying on the ground, looking unscathed, but he knew they either didn't breathe or wouldn't for much longer. Mangled bodies staggered around while others dragged themselves forth with stumps where their legs should have been. It was a sea of blood, guts, and people screaming hysterically.

This was _wrong!_ It wasn't how they _did_ things! You were given a target, and you eliminated it! No one else! Civilian casualties weren't supposed to _happen!_ It was conspicuous, and a waste of resources, and, and, and-

Tshiamo's head snapped to Sektor. The red clad warrior was looking down at the street with an expression of indifference. Tshiamo pushed himself up on quivering legs, pointing at his former comrade.

" _You!"_

Sektor turned to him blinking, as if confused over why he was addressed with such fury.

 _"What have they ever done to you?_ "

Sektor raised his brows, baring his teeth in a smug, amused grin.

"Cyrax!" he exclaimed. "It's just people! You've killed hundreds yourself in the past, what is it, twelve years?"

"That's- that's _different!"_ Tshiamo spluttered out the words, eyes darting between Sektor and the scene below. "It's not- this, this is- it's a _massacre!"_

Sektor stared at him blankly, then crossed his arms and shook his head with a sigh. An artificial sigh, "how can you be acting this ridiculous" it said. A growl formed in the back of Tshiamo's throat. He stumbled forward clumsily, seizing Sektor's collar with both hands. He violently jerked it upwards, forcing Sektor to stand on his toes in order not to hang dangling above the ground.

"There are _children_ down there!"

Sektor pushed him away, striking the broken rib. Tshiamo wobbled backwards, gasping for breath, while Sektor adjusted his uniform. He scoffed.

"I can hear that," he said. He looked to the street, then back to Tshiamo with a smirk. "Let's shut them up, shall we?"

Before Tshiamo had fully processed what he'd said, Sektor lobbed another small sphere out over the crowded street. Without thinking, Tshiamo dove after it. He snatched it in mid-air, twisted around, and pitched it further up into the sky. The blastwave forced him down at an even higher velocity, and he slammed into the concrete like a ragdoll. Every ounce of air was knocked out of him. His vision faded in and out. His ears were ringing. For a moment, he felt nothing.

His hearing returned first – the cries and moans of pain was even worse when you were in the middle of it. He tried changing positions, to roll onto his stomach and push himself up, but the sharp pain shot through every nerve, nearly making him puke. All he could do was lie still and breathe raspingly.

The last thing he saw was Sektor's muddled image hovering above him, extending a hand with tiny blue sparks dancing around his fingers.

* * *

 **There are barely any fics featuring Cyrax. He deserves better than that, doesn't he? Not Sektor though. He can go drown in a barrel.**

 **Thank you for reading, and please review. Positive or negative, it will be appreciated.**


End file.
